Sunday
Dear Pat,
It's been a quiet day. I slept until quarter of 12, then got up, went to dinner, cleaned my room, typed a paper, wrote to the boys, wrote a thank-you, wrote a summary of an essay I'd just read. You should see my sparkling clean room. Mother's coming up this week sometime so I thought I'd better have it looking halfway decent.
Pat, Marilyn and I went to see Fourposter with Jessica Tandy and Hume Cronyn. Very light, charming enjoyable. They are both very fine actors, she perhaps a little better than he. I picked up 3 records at a tiny place on 7th Ave - Andrés Segovia on guitar, the Prades festival w. Pablo Casals playing Bach on cello, and Pearl Bailey's "Tired." We nearly wore that one out last night. I'm learning to jitterbug, at long last. It's rather fun, but I'm still mighty partial to waltzing.
Do you remember the German boy at "Camino"? I went to a Coffee Dance at John Jay on Friday, and there was Clemence. He fetched me coffee, cookies and a comfortable chair and then we talked for 2 1/2 hours. He's very interesting to talk to, but you know - . By the way, I wore my 3" heels. I'm not in the least bothered by them, and neither was anyone else. It's a comforting feeling. Ted was there and I crouched far away out of range. Poor Ted!
Mollie has said that I can borrow her gorgeous dark blue sheath with the angora around the neck to take home with me. God knows what I'll do with it once I get there, but it really is a beauty and fits me like a dream. She's taking my black velvet job to V.P.J. with her after exams. It looks very well on her.
I wish the Workshop would post its next play. I'm dying to work on one.
Have you come to any conclusions concerning fathead and company? I'm at a loss. I keep going around in circles, and I end up right where I began. Best thing to do, I guess, is work like hell and not think about it till after exams, then try to get things straightened out when I get home. At the moment though I feel no more like working than flying to the moon. Blast!
Do write.
Love,
JanieP.S.
If you can lay hands on a record of "Tired," listen carefully to the words. Maybe that's part of it, huh?